


And We Danced

by DualWieldingCousland (DualWieldingMama)



Series: The Other Regan [18]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-24
Updated: 2015-05-24
Packaged: 2018-04-01 00:17:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3998689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DualWieldingMama/pseuds/DualWieldingCousland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Only one thing, one person, could make The Winter Palace bearable.  Takes place in Halamshiral & Skyhold – some in-game dialog included.</p>
<p>(edited to include amazeballs art commissioned from frank-a-lank over on Tumblr)</p>
            </blockquote>





	And We Danced

Maker’s breath, how she hated trying to find her way around the Winter Palace. Halamshiral felt like it was larger than Skyhold, and that place was a maze sometimes. Regan made her way through the crowd, making idle chit chat where necessary and discretely listening in on conversation when possible. It was all very tiring, and honestly, the only person she wanted to find was Cullen.

She had just managed to escape a rather tedious verbal dance with some dowager or another when she finally caught a glimpse of the man’s slicked back hair. He was practically pinned in place by a throng of people. She made her way over just in time to hear someone ask if he was married. She hid a smile as he replied that he wasn’t, but was already taken. Unfortunately, that seemed to do little to dissuade the crowd. “Commander Cullen,” she gently interrupted, slipping between two overly full ball gowns. “Might I borrow you for a moment?” She looked at the crowd and gave her best apologetic smile. “Terribly sorry, my lords and ladies, but I have need of the Inquisition’s Commander. I beg your forgiveness.”

Cullen shot her a relieved look, trying his best to hide it from the crowd. He had been trying to figure out a way to get free, but he had no experience with the sort of political maneuvering it took to survive in Orlais. “Thank the Maker,” he sighed when they were finally out of earshot. “And thank you, Inquisitor. Was there something you needed?”

“Not a problem,” Regan replied, fighting to hide the amused smile that her face wanted to break into. She wasn’t much happier about being stuck in this sort of political obstacle course; she felt like she was as much a fish out of water as he was. But seeing him show such relief at escaping the barrage of questions was kind of … cute. “Have you seen anything unusual?”

“Not yet,” he replied, shaking his head. Of course, he hadn’t been able to do much other than fend off the crowd of people surrounding him. “It would be easier if people would just stop talking to me,” he grumbled before catching himself. “Other people; not you.” Maker, if she stopped talking to him, he didn’t know what he’d do; that certainly wasn’t what he wanted.

She nodded, trying her best not to laugh. His discomfort with their surroundings matched hers, a fact she found rather relieving. “I don’t suppose you’d save a dance for me?” she asked softly, reaching out to touch his arm. If she had to dance with the annoying nobility, she wanted at least one dance with the partners she liked. Dorian had already promised her a dance, vowing to keep all eyes on them, so some of their cohorts could snoop around. But what she really wanted was a chance to dance with Cullen.

“No, thank you,” he replied almost immediately. His heart stopped as he saw her face fall and felt her hand start to move away. “No! I didn’t mean to -” He sighed and quickly reached out to stop her hand, wishing he had been paying more attention. “Maker’s breath! I’ve answered that question so many times I’m rejecting it automatically.” He relaxed, slightly, when she stopped moving away and smiled at him. “I’m just … not one for dancing. The templars never attended balls; were never invited to them really,” he explained sadly. He really had no clue how some people managed to move so gracefully across the floor in the cumbersome formal wear that seemed to be all the rage. Even the less bulky costumes he and the rest of the Inquisition wore made movement more difficult than in his armor – a fact that surprised him.

“It’s OK, Cullen,” Regan murmured, swiftly hiding the irrational hurt that she felt. His reason made sense, at least. And it wasn’t like he was dancing with anyone else, either. “You’ve attracted quite a following,” she laughed, changing the subject. “Who are all these people?” She recognized a few of the gowns; the masks the Orlesians wore made facial recognition almost impossible. Josephine had managed to obtain some interesting masks for their little group, but Regan had opted not to wear hers; she rather enjoyed listening to the speculation about whatever statement she might be making.

“I don’t know.” Cullen knew he sounded exasperated, but really didn’t care. He knew he didn’t have to be on his guard with Regan; and if anyone was listening in, he didn’t care. “But they won’t leave me alone.”

“Not enjoying the attention, then?” Regan laughed, shifting just enough to glare at an approaching party-goer. One of Leliana’s men swiftly intercepted the young man and guided him off toward a more welcoming dance partner.  
“Hardly,” Cullen grumbled, absently noting that she had not pulled her hand away. The feel of her skin beneath his hand set his spine tingling. Maker, no one had ever made him feel this way before. “Anyway, yours ….“ His voice caught briefly, causing him to clear his throat. When he resumed, he dropped his voice into a softer whisper, wishing he could do more than just tell her right then, “yours is the only attention worth having.”

She couldn’t stop the blush from coloring her cheeks momentarily. There was something about his voice that sent chills down her spine. Or maybe it was the way he was looking at her. Either way, she felt her heart skip a beat as she finally forced herself to return to the search. “Back to work,” she whispered reluctantly, leaning in to kiss his cheek before slipping back into the role of party-goer.

It was over. The Grand Duchess was dead; she’d preferred fighting to imprisonment for conspiring to kill the Empress, not to mention attempting to frame her brother. Gaspard, Celene & Briala had vowed to work together to rule Orlais, and the two cousins even looked like they might actually get along. She still didn’t know what was going to happen between Celene and Briala; there was some bad blood there, but also something deeper. It didn’t matter, really; Orlais’ ruler-ship issue had been taken care of and Corypheus had lost, again. Plus, she’d acquired another ally; Celene had decided that her occult advisor was to join the Inquisition, at least temporarily. So why didn’t she feel better?

Regan leaned tiredly on the stone guardrail surrounding the balcony, staring out at nothing. At least the Empress had given her a dress to replace the battle-shredded outfit she had been wearing. The powder blue gown fit, mostly – a little tight in some places, a little shorter than was technically proper, but it would suffice. At least there was nothing restricting the movement of her arms; the bodice was held up by thin straps of fabric with no sleeves. A shawl in a matching shade completed the look and kept her upper body warm.

“There you are.” Cullen had been looking for her everywhere. He lost count of the number of nobles who had asked him where she was, like he was her keeper. Those questions were more welcome, however, than the ones asking whether she was married, or if he thought she would be interested in a marriage alliance. Those made his stomach knot and took all his self-control not to use some choice words. “Everyone’s been looking for you. Things have calmed down for the moment.” He leaned on the rail next to her, finally noticing her wilted posture. “Are you alright?”

She hadn’t heard him approach. Somehow, even with all her training, she hadn’t heard the commander of her military, who always made noise walking anywhere. Regan jumped slightly, smiling awkwardly as she looked over at the one good thing she couldn’t stop thinking about. “I’m just worn out,” she admitted, after an internal argument. She almost wanted to just tell him she was fine; she hated seeming weak in front of him. But honesty won out in the end. “Tonight has been … very long.”

“For all of us,” Cullen agreed. “I’m glad it’s over.” ‘For many reasons,’ he thought to himself. He was glad to finally be rid of the crowds of people who constantly peppered him with questions but wouldn’t take no for an answer, no matter how many times he said he wasn’t interested. There was only one person he wanted to spend his time with, and she was right next to him. He reached out and gently rested a hand on her shoulder. “I know it’s foolish, but I was worried for you tonight.” He couldn’t stop worrying about her, especially after hearing about the fight in the servants’ quarters. She had been at risk, and there had been nothing he could do to stop it, again.

She couldn’t help but smile over at him. Her heart was all over the place; he had been worried about her! He’d been thinking about her! She reached up to gently brush her fingers over the hand on her shoulder. “I was worried for me too,” she laughed, trying to relax.

Cullen just smiled, staring at her for a moment. Eventually, he looked back at the ballroom and listened to the music. He turned back to the woman next to him and didn’t bother fighting a sly smile. “I may never have another chance like this, so I must ask.” He straightened up, moving back just a step. When he was sure she was still watching, he bowed, extending his hand as he had watched countless men do throughout the evening. “May I have this dance, my lady?”

But didn’t he say he didn’t dance? Regan straightened up and smiled, taking his hand. “Of course, Ser Cullen Stanton Rutherford,” she replied with a grin, letting herself be pulled against him. She’d noticed the look of disgust that had quickly passed over his face when the crier had announced his full name. “I thought you didn’t dance?” She relished the closeness, his smell, his touch. Right then, there was nowhere she’d rather be, no one she’d rather be with. This made the ordeals of the night worth it.

Any other time, hearing his full name would have made him grumble, or worse. But coming from her, it was the most wonderful thing he’d ever heard. “For you,” he whispered, leaning close to her ear as he led her to the center of the balcony. “I’ll try.” And they started moving to the music, gliding nearly effortlessly across the floor, not caring that people were starting to stare at the couple forgoing the grand ballroom and all its trappings for the simple balcony and the pleasure of each other’s company.

“So how are you feeling this morning?” Regan sat across from Cullen, the chessboard separating them. They had made it a weekly thing; it allowed them to relax, as well as spend time together. Everyone in Skyhold knew not to bother the pair with anything other than the most dire of news during their game time.

“I’d be perfectly happy never again setting foot in the Winter Palace,” Cullen groused before moving his piece across the board. The trip back from Halamshiral had been uneventful, thankfully; no demons or red templars impeded their caravan as they’d all returned home. It was odd; Skyhold was feeling more and more like a home – more-so than either circle ever did. “It wasn’t the gossip and the backstabbing – I know what The Game entails,” he explained, watching as she moved one of her pieces into the trap he’d set. “It was the indifference to it all …”

“At least there was dancing.” She frowned as Cullen moved his piece to the square hers rested on, pursing her lips as he plucked the captured knight from the board. She had tolerated the ball and all the intrigue because the Inquisition needed her to. But Maker, if she never saw the inside of that palace again, it would be too soon. Plus, she’d gotten to spend some time with him, in a way she wouldn’t mind repeating.

He laughed, shaking his head. “Or an attempt at it, anyway.” He had no illusions about his dancing skills. He hadn’t been kidding when he had told her templars didn’t attend balls. But that night – that part of it, anyway – had been amazingly wonderful. The feel of her against him, the two of them moving as one, had set his mind racing for so many other things. Just the memory of it was enough to distract him from the game; he paid little attention as he moved his piece away from its guard position.

“I thought you did well,” Regan smiled. She quickly moved her attacking piece to the newly vacated square and waited for him to notice. It was rare he made such a poor move; his mind was surely not on the game. Not that hers was entirely focused on the board either, but she’d managed to split her attention fairly evenly, for once.

“I’m grateful for your poor taste in dance partners,” he chuckled. The smile faded as he noticed what had just occurred. He’d complain about unfair tactics, but it wasn’t her fault he couldn’t stop thinking about her. He’d just have to do some quick thinking in order to win the game.

“I could teach you,” she offered faintly, not sure he would welcome the idea. When he looked surprised, she took a breath and explained. “Once all this mess with Corypheus is over, do you really think Leliana and Josephine will just let the Inquisition fade from the nobles’ view? I’m pretty sure at least one of them is already planning some sort of dance or party or … something.” She reached across the board to tap gently at his nose. “And, believe me, if I’m expected to dance, you’ll be expected to dance, with me, several times.”


End file.
